Discrepancy
by Winterluna
Summary: Mara Jade draws on her feelings about her life from being the Emperor's Hand to death. Limited omniscient. I fixed the last part at the request of my reviewers.


Mara Jade was winning a losing battle at every bend of her life. Her tortured mind vied for liberation of her compulsory loyalty. He had saved her, but the compensation was revoked freedom. The life debt caused her mind to fight for morality, but torment engaged her to be broken in spirit.

But her spirit was only concealed beneath a façade of interminable fidelity, costing her the life for which she aspired: dancing. She was an example of living death: looking without seeing. The trap into which she descended equaled hermitage and slavery, resulting in lines scarring her pale face forever. The Force proved no aid or comfort to her even in least desperate times. She was a desolate soul amidst those of power or happiness. It was difficult to distinguish her from the Imperial officers who all bore somber appearances. But that was only on the occasions when she arrived to report a successful mission, and no one perceived her face as it was hidden behind a red screen of hair. And only androids provided her with nourishment and commands from the Emperor. They hardly ever conversed with her; they need only accept and produce her wishes. There weren't any means of connection in her spacy, opulent living quarters aboard the Star Destroyer she entitled living in, which was regularly dimmed to emulate her perpetual mood. Disputing was the most exultant time for her, but in spite of that placed her in austere despondency. She saw a dark tunnel without a light at the end, stumbling through without bearing.

Then she saw him. His blood besmirching his clothes and invading hers. She embraced his form, allowing tears down her cheeks while in solitude. She realized he was the single person who cared about her welfare, and she cold-bloodily executed him. Tears coursing onto her cheeks and chin, Mara wiped her face clear of tear trails before attempting to stand up. Primarily, she crumpled due to her lethargy of loss. She caught herself the second time and ambled out of the control room hurt more mentally than physically. She didn't desire to accept her superior officer's haughtiness. The only conduit she had was him, no matter how modest she would be with others vis-à-vis any of her feelings. The agony she experienced coerced her to insert the coordinates for Coruscant, the location of the strengthening New Republic. She would be apprehended for the people she slaughtered, but she would try to persuade her defense to the best of her ability.

But the surprise she found softened her heart, but she felt his resentment hiding the minute ardor he sensed. She noted the tear slipping from the safety of her eyes. She let her head fall with ignominy as she staggered to the physical prison with two jump suited sentries keeping a firm grip on her muscled but slender arms. A look of conquest plagued her pale face, an emotion unbeknownst to her previously. It did not suit her.

He was feeling empathetic. He could sense the penitence of her exploits. She would atone for her misdemeanors with service. She would never look back and regret the judgment. It was for him. The Force told him she loved him without reserve. That is why he stayed the guards.

Restrictions were set upon her, but she was permitted second class living quarters. She had entered another prison. She was confined to her room unless personnel required her assistance or nutritional necessity. Disallowing visitors was a precedence that permitted thought process of her transgressions.

It would last six standard months before her penitence would come to use as an advisor of the Chief of State. He would comment on her thinning red mop; it was in anguish of isolation. Infamy would release with competence in war. But only time would disclose the matter. She could only wait; her teachings of the Force could not tell the future simply.

Time restored her cherished poise, and she learned the splendor of New Republic structures and dealings. Being acquainted with Leia Organa added to her gratification as they soon became one of the same. Permitted to aid them provided her additional moments with him. He had put a Force correlation on them, which consented her to view his sentiments. Leia was hardly serene during Jedi training, but Luke let it lapse until composure returned. Mara admired him for it. Unremitting intolerance of everything going erroneous, she found his presence quite suitable in times of her peace. He granted din when no one was daring enough to do so.

Isolder came without caveat imploring for aid with his deteriorating system. Among the first, Mara facilitated him with provisions and weapons, succeeding alongside him. She won an honor for her efforts and his heart. She denied it for a promise of a covenant to another blond.

Her white gown was borrowed from Leia; an Alderaanian gown exceeding any other dress she had been obliged to done while Emperor's Hand. Scarlet hair bunched up in ornate curl designs accentuated her pallor. Her emerald eyes glistened with exhilaration, but his azure eyes explained her complete contentment. Something about his smile didn't match her emotions, but she was too taken with his contemplations.

Then it faded into a moment of bliss as a bundle of warmth was in his arms. He had whispered the name repeatedly in her ear of their son. She could feel the midi-chlorians flowing in his every cell, and she understood the amount of them that flowed through his family, starting with his grandfather. It was an object that she couldn't even see; merely perceive the emotions of a complete familial impression that would last an eternity in the three.

Then the conclusive confrontation with her nephew destroyed a generation. A matching heart wrenched in two directions: The death of the significant other and the turn of the nephew. A grievance for both; the expectation pushed aside because of faith. A legacy of truth and lies conclude in poignancy.


End file.
